The Extra's Rise-Chapter 202: Northern Sea Ice Palace (3)

"Mommy, I’m booooored!"

A small half-elf girl whined, clinging stubbornly to her mother’s leg, her tiny hands gripping onto the flowing fabric of an intricate robe.

Her mother—tall, regal, effortlessly composed—looked down with a gaze that was neither warm nor cold, caught somewhere between mild exasperation and patient endurance.

"What is it, Seraphina?" she asked.

"I want to see something fun!" Seraphina huffed, crossing her arms in the way only an impatient child could.

"The sun is setting," her mother pointed out. "It will be time for you to sleep soon."

"I don’t want to sleep yet!"

There was a long pause. Then, finally, her mother sighed, the kind of sigh that came from someone who had spent years balancing the roles of Palace Lord and Parent without completely losing her mind.

"Then," she said, scooping Seraphina up into her arms, "I will show you something fun."

Seraphina wiggled in protest—she was too old to be carried!—but as they moved, her complaints faded. People bowed as her mother passed, warriors and mages alike dipping their heads in reverence to the Lady of the Northern Sea Ice Palace.

And then—

She gasped.

Her mouth fell open. Her protests vanished.

The sky had darkened, but the world had lit up.

Glowing creatures floated gently through the air, their cyan light flickering like tiny captured stars. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands.

Iceflies.

Seraphina’s eyes—wide and shining—were the exact same shade of blue as the lights surrounding her.

"WOW!"

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Her mother watched, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" she asked.

Seraphina nodded furiously, her excitement bubbling over.

"This is but one of the wonders of the Northern Sea Ice Palace," her mother said, looking down at her daughter. In that moment, the coldness in her gaze melted, just slightly. A rare moment of warmth she couldn’t always afford as Palace Lord.

Seraphina beamed up at her. "I’ll always remember this sight, Mommy!"

But memory is a cruel thing.

It can fade. It can be buried. It can be stolen.

"Daddy?" Seraphina stood in the Mount Hua Sect, small and confused.

"Where’s Mommy?"

Li Zenith was kneeling in front of her, his posture stiff, his head bowed, the weight of something heavy pressing against his spine.

Seraphina stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"You said Mommy would come with you, Daddy!"

Her father didn’t speak.

His lips pressed together, his shoulders tensing—just for a second—before he reached out and gently patted her head.

"Mommy..." he said, voice quieter than Seraphina had ever heard it. "Mommy has gone to a better place now."

Seraphina frowned. "Then—I want to visit her!"

Her father’s breath hitched. His hands trembled, just barely. Then, without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace, crushing her against him.

"Please, Sera," he whispered, voice raw. "Never say that. You can’t… you can’t visit her."

Seraphina didn’t understand. Not yet.

But soon, she would.

Her mother was dead.

And everything changed.

Her father, the Sect Leader of Mount Hua, withdrew.

From her. From the sect. From everything except training. He buried himself in training, pushing past his limits, chasing a single obsession—surpassing the Martial King.

Then came Sun Zenith.

A prodigy. A talent too bright to ignore. Li Zenith adopted him, took him in, raised him as his own.

And Sun?

He despised Seraphina.

It wasn’t immediate. Not at first. But resentment festered, and before long, the weight of expectations, the clash of talent, and the sheer inevitability of their rivalry turned his dislike into something worse.

Seraphina learned.

She learned that warmth was fleeting. That trust could wither. That loss was a weight you carried alone.

So she grew cold.

Because what else could she do?

Seraphina looked at Arthur.

At first, she thought he was just telling her to open her eyes—to look at the iceflies, to remember what she had forgotten.

But then she saw it.

Arthur wasn’t just looking at the iceflies.

He was thinking of something else.

He was remembering something else.

And whatever it was—it hurt.

Seraphina had always been good at reading people. It was why Arthur fascinated her so much. He wasn’t an easy person to read, but when you watched closely enough, the cracks appeared.

And right now?

She could tell.

The pain Arthur was hiding… it was worse than hers.

"Arthur," Seraphina said, her voice quiet, but firm.

Arthur exhaled, staring up at the drifting cyan lights, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Memories are a funny thing, Seraphina," he said. "We humans like to think we remember things as they happened. But we don’t. We’re biased. Our memories twist, warp, shift under the weight of emotions. We forget things we want to remember, and we remember things we’d give anything to forget."

Seraphina understood.

She had been young when her mother died—too young to recall every detail—but the memory of the funeral? That had never faded. It was sharp. Vivid. A wound she had carried for years.

"But in the end," Arthur said, finally looking at her. There was a hint of a smile there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Aren’t memories proof?"

"Proof?" she echoed.

"Proof that we lived," Arthur said. "Proof that we felt. Even if our memories are flawed, even if they’re shaped by emotion, they’re still ours. They show us where we’ve been, what we’ve been through. What we are, what we’ll become."

Seraphina’s fingers curled slightly.

Arthur’s voice was calm, steady—but there was something beneath it. Something deeper.

"So, Seraphina," he said, his gaze steady, unwavering. "Don’t forget. Don’t bury them. In this world, the best thing you can do is remember the ones who need to be remembered."

She watched him for a long moment, the iceflies flickering around them, their soft glow reflecting in both their eyes.

And then, finally—

She nodded.

"Even now, you are the Northern Sea Ice Palace," Arthur said, stepping closer. His voice was steady, his expression unreadable—except for the faintest curve of a smile. "Even now, you’re still that little half-elf girl who played in the snow here, who gasped at the sight of iceflies, who loved this island like it was a part of her. That will never change."

Seraphina stared at him, her breath curling in the frigid air.

"Arthur," she murmured. "I… I don’t get it." Her fingers curled slightly, gripping onto nothing. "I look at you, and I think I have an idea. You’ve suffered—a lot. And yet, you smile. You manipulate people, yet you care so deeply. How? How are you like this?"

Arthur’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, his smile deepened, but there was something unreadable behind it. Something distant.

"Someone once told me," he said, "never stop being human. Never stop feeling. Never stop living." He exhaled softly, the cold stealing away his breath like a whisper. "So I do. As long as I’m alive, I feel. I may use people to protect those I care about, but I’m also the one who will protect them when I can."

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Seraphina didn’t look away.

Truth.

Everything in her told her he wasn’t lying. Every instinct, every observation, every quiet moment she had spent watching him, trying to unravel what made him Arthur Nightingale.

And wasn’t that why she had fallen in love with him?

Seraphina clenched her fists.

I don’t care, she thought. I don’t care if he’s not the Second Hero. He doesn’t need to be. Because—

Because there is no one more like a hero than Arthur in my eyes.

Even if she was wrong. Even if she was biased.

It didn’t matter.

Slowly, she dropped to one knee in the snow.

Arthur’s eyes widened. "Seraphina—?"

"I, Seraphina Zenith," she said, her voice steady, unwavering, "swear to be Arthur Nightingale’s Knight."

Arthur stared.

"Seraphina, what—" He cut himself off, visibly flustered. "What are you doing?"

"A knight’s vow," Seraphina replied simply. "I may not be a knight in title, but I wield a sword. And I swear it to you. I want to fight for you. With you. Forever."

Her words were quiet, but absolute.

Because Seraphina had made her choice.

She couldn’t imagine fighting for anyone else.

Arthur let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "Don’t be my Knight," he muttered, shaking his head.

Before she could respond, he reached down, gripping her arms, and pulled her up.

Her breath hitched, her cheeks turning red—not from the cold, but from the sudden closeness.

"Knights can’t do that with their Masters, you know," Arthur muttered, and the teasing smirk on his face made her entire body heat up.

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. Then, before Arthur could react, she grabbed onto his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his waist, and—

—kissed him.

Deeply.

The second time she kissed Arthur.

And as she felt his arms tighten around her, Seraphina made another vow.

She would always be his sword.